


On Schedule

by Sugar_n_Spyce32



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon? Where We're Going We Don't Need Canon, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, No Smut, Pre-Relationship, Spanking, Timeline is fucky, mouthsoaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugar_n_Spyce32/pseuds/Sugar_n_Spyce32
Summary: Some people find routine crucial. Others find it suffocating. And some don’t get a choice in the matter.After Rufus’s attempted insurrection, Tseng finds himself assigned to probationary duty as his house arrest supervisor. Certain expectations need to be met, but getting Rufus to meet them is going to be a very tough time.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read - this fic is not smut. Abusive punishments are depicted in detail. Canon around these events is unclear for the most part, so I just sort of did my own thing and probably went off the rails. If any of those things bother you, this might not be the fic for you.

Tseng took a deep breath as he shuffled the papers in his hands. This had never been his plan, but then, plans go awry. That was just the reality of life. Luckily, being a Turk was all about adapting when things didn’t go as outlined in the mission briefs. 

He knocked twice for courtesy, then pushed open the door to Rufus’s suite. It was located in one of the upper levels of the Junon company facility, well beyond the reaches of Midgar. Tseng was not looking forward to his daily flights back and forth, but if it meant keeping the Turks alive, then he could grit his teeth and get through it. 

Rufus was standing at one of the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor. He hardly turned when Tseng entered the room, sparing him the barest of glances before turning back to the glass. 

“Good evening, Sir,” Tseng began, trying to appear cordial despite his earlier interactions with the newly-appointed Vice President, “My name is-”

“I don’t give a shit,” Rufus cut him off, “You’re the Turk they picked to be director?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tseng replied shortly. 

“Don’t go thinking that you’re something special,” Rufus spit, “You Turks have been a thorn in my side for a damn long while. Getting you excused from execution was only a formality.”

“Eye for an eye,” Tseng agreed, keeping his face as straight as he could. Rufus Shinra had been causing extensive trouble for the Turks for just as long as they’d been getting in his way - the contempt they felt for one another was clearly mutual. 

“Why are you here?” Rufus growled, his impatience growing quickly as soon as Tseng gave him the space to speak. 

“I’m to facilitate your house arrest,” Tseng replied as professionally as he could.

Rufus let out an annoyed sound.

“I thought the Turks were on probation.”

“We are,” Tseng said, “This particular duty is one of the probationary tasks I’ve been assigned.”

“How typical,” Rufus sneered, “Why do I have a feeling that this was Heidegger’s idea?”

“You would be correct, Sir.”

That would’ve been funny, if they both hadn’t been so pissed off at the situation.

“Allow me to make something abundantly clear to you,” Rufus turned to face Tseng in full, “My father may think that he’s appeased me with this little ‘promotion,’ but I refuse to be one of his pawns. I know they’ve sent you here to force me into doing their menial labor, but I’m not doing any of it.”

“If you’re not going to cooperate, then we’ll both be relieved of our duties,” Tseng said, putting a little more force behind his words, “And if that’s going to be the case, then what was the point of defending us at all?”

“You are not my problem,” Rufus replied sharply, “I don’t intend to listen to a Turk.”

Tseng sighed in frustration. So it was going to be the hard way, then. He walked across the plush ecru carpet and held the papers out toward Rufus.

“If you don’t want to listen, then read instead. This is the daily schedule I’ve drafted for you, as required.”

Rufus gave it a brief glance before shooting an irritated look at Tseng. He swiped the papers from the Turk’s hand and, with a flourish and direct eye-contact, tore the sheets to shreds that rained down to the carpet.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m going to follow a fucking schedule under house arrest,” Rufus sneered. 

Tseng’s eyes sharpened. 

_ And you’re a fool if you think I’ll take your shitty attitude lying down, _ he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Seven days a week, Tseng’s alarm went off at 6:30 in the morning. He had exactly thirty minutes to get himself fit to appear in Veld’s office. It was part of his training to become a Turk - accurate efficiency. He was not permitted to set his alarm any earlier than that. 

It left no time for hitting the snooze button. Tseng was out of bed by 6:31, bare feet dancing across the cold concrete floor of his tiny housing unit. In the middle of winter, the basement of the Shinra building got far colder than usual - all the more motivation to get a move on. 

The tile floor of the bathroom wasn’t much warmer, but the bathmat in front of the shower stall provided some reprieve from the chill. Tseng didn’t waste a single second, almost on autopilot as he ran a comb through his long hair and pulled it back into a neat ponytail. He was 18 years old now, and this had been his morning routine for close to six years. It no longer required active thought, and instead Tseng could turn his attention to what the day ahead would hold. Nothing special, he was sure - meals, training, exercises, and a short part of the evening to socialize. His days all looked exactly the same, and would continue to look that way until he was formally hired.

In the meantime, he was just a trainee, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with one hand and brushing his teeth with the other. He wasn’t far off now, surely - he’d been apprenticing under Veld for years now. He spit the remnants of toothpaste into the sink, turning on the water and letting it wash away the foam and warm up. In the meantime, he reached for his deodorant.

A safety razor made shaving go faster, Tseng found. Lanes formed in the shaving cream he’d spread on the lower half of his face, leaving smooth skin beneath as he whisked away his five o’clock shadow. A splash of water washed away the last of the lather, and Tseng dried his face on a washcloth before returning to his room, heading straight to the closet.

His uniforms were arranged neatly, full sets on singular hangers, as Veld required - Tseng only needed to reach in once and pull any set, and he’d have everything he needed for the day. With underwear already in place, Tseng began with his black socks, then moved to button up the white dress shirt. The tie was next, and black dress slacks finished the look - he wouldn’t get the suit jacket until his position was made official. 

It had been his singular goal since he was taken in by Shinra. With it finally within reach, Tseng was determined not to mess this up. It was so close.

The Turks’ kitchen was small and cramped, and already bustling with activity. Tseng was a bit early, as usual, and so he stuck to the wall and waited patiently for the full-fledged Turks to finish their breakfasts and coffee. If he was lucky, then maybe there would be enough left over to sustain him without needing to brew another pot.

There was no such luck today. The room gradually emptied, and Tseng watched as someone dumped the last splash of coffee into their own mug. As soon as the pot was empty, the rookie stepped over and began to prepare the next batch. By the time he hit “brew,” the room was quiet. 

Tseng ransacked the cupboards for some sort of sustenance. A breakfast oat bar would do nicely, and Tseng was pleased to see that whoever last got groceries had purchased a small selection of flavors. Strawberry seemed just right, and the bar was gone by the time the coffee was done. 

Ten minutes left to go.

The coffee had to be consumed before Tseng left the kitchen, and taking it black was fastest. Tseng downed the cup in several chugs, risking a burnt tongue. He didn’t care for the taste just yet, and didn’t really need the caffeine either, but he’d been told that now was a good time to start getting used to it. It would be necessary for the long and late nights he’d be pulling later in his career.

When the coffee was finished, Tseng quickly washed and dried the mug he’d borrowed and returned it to the shelf. Two minutes to spare - just enough time to walk down the hallway and slip into Veld’s office at 7 a.m, on the dot. Right on schedule.

“Sir,” Tseng greeted.

“Good morning, Tseng,” Veld returned, not bothering to look up from his computer, “You can resume your task from yesterday.”

Tseng’s energy sank out of him with a rude bump. More pointless hand-copying of old reports, exactly as he’d been doing for the last two weeks. Despite his internal disappointment, his face didn’t show it.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied obediently, turning to leave the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Tseng pulled open the curtains of Rufus’s bedroom window. Bright orange sunlight streamed through, illuminating the Vice President’s bed.

It woke Rufus up enough to make him groan and turn over. Tseng sighed. Not off to a great start.

It was day one of house arrest. Tseng had left Midgar by helicopter at 6 in the morning, ensuring that he was here on time to start enforcing Rufus’s new schedule. As he’d guessed, Shinra hadn’t bothered to set an alarm.

“It’s time to wake up, Sir,” he said flatly, stepping toward Rufus’s bed. Rufus made another noise of frustration, and a single hand snaked out from beneath the comforter, middle finger raised. 

Tseng felt his brow twitch. In a swift motion, he grabbed the blankets with both hands and ripped them backwards, yanking them away from Rufus.

“Gods, fuck off!” Rufus hissed, grabbing the very end of the blanket before it could escape his range. He pulled, but in his morning drowsiness, he couldn’t match Tseng’s grip. Tseng pulled until the comforter and sheet were stripped right off the bed, balling them up in his arms and tossing them onto a nearby chair.

“Asshole…” Rufus grumbled. Tseng rolled his eyes.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d set an alarm - as you were instructed,” Tseng said matter-of-factly, “Please get up and make your preparations for your day. Breakfast will be ready within half an hour.”

“I’ll starve,” Rufus threatened. Tseng rolled his eyes.

“Out of petty revenge?” he remarked. Rufus opened his mouth to retaliate, but Tseng swept out the door before he could get the satisfaction.

A copy of the daily schedule Tseng had been made to put together was laid on the kitchen counter. The damn thing was jam-packed with minute tasks that needed completion. The morning alone was outlined in excruciating detail - style hair, brush teeth, shave, get dressed, breakfast... It was all disguised as concern, but it was clear that President Shinra wanted total control over his errant son. This was designed to make Rufus suffer, and Tseng was its unwilling enforcer. 

Hopefully, Rufus would soon grow up and learn to live with his new routine. There was more wiggle room in this schedule than the one Tseng had been held to when he was training to be a Turk. It was more than survivable - it was comfortable, and it made perfect sense. 

Tseng turned on the kitchenette stove and set a pan over the heat. The fridge was newly stocked as of that morning, and Tseng pulled a package of bacon from one of the lower shelves. Once he had it frying in the pan, he reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bag of coffee beans, setting to the task of grinding them and emptying the aromatic grounds into the coffee maker. 

He knew perfectly well that Rufus had probably grabbed the blankets and curled back up in bed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fallen back asleep. What was the best way to go about this - tossing the food on his nightstand, or throwing it in the trash when the allotted time for breakfast ended? Tseng wasn’t about to let this brat just walk all over him, but he still needed to ensure that the basic standards of the schedule were met in at least some capacity. If the VP really started to starve on his watch, then he was going to be dead within days. And so would his team of Turks. 

“Playing chef too, huh?”

Tseng turned and looked at Rufus, still clad in his pajamas and leaned against the bedroom doorframe. 

“Yes,” he replied, trying to keep a straight face and not scowl as he turned back toward the stovetop, “There’s a copy of the schedule on the counter in the bathroom. Please complete the listed tasks. Breakfast should be ready by the time you’re finished.”

“I’m not following the damn schedule,” Rufus spit, “Who’s checking, anyway?”

“Surely you’re smart enough to know that there are hidden cameras everywhere here.”

“Of course I know that - I’m not an idiot. No one is actually going to watch the feeds.”

“Yes they will.”

“Oh, please,” Rufus huffed, “My father has never cared about what I do.”

“Have you considered the possibility that your insurrection might’ve been enough to grab his attention?”

Tseng laid the bacon out on a plate. He didn’t need to turn to know that Rufus was scowling at him. Tseng cracked two eggs into the pan, frying them in the bacon grease.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Up yours,” Rufus hissed. He took wide strides toward the stove, which immediately put Tseng on the defensive. He put himself between Rufus and the pan and moved the carton of eggs out of reach. To his surprise though, Rufus didn’t go for either of those things - he reached for the bacon. 

Tseng reached for it at the same time, collecting the plate and holding it out of the way before Rufus could snatch a strip.

“Breakfast doesn’t happen until the other scheduled tasks are completed,” Tseng said firmly, standing his ground. Rufus attempted to stretch for the bacon, and then to knock the plate from Tseng’s hand, but the Turk was too nimble.

“You may be acting in his stead,” Rufus growled maliciously, “But you are  _ not _ my father. You can’t enforce his punishment.”

Tseng let the anger show through on his face - just enough to warn.

“Tell me how you want your eggs,” he said lowly, “And go get ready.”

Rufus returned the pissed-off look, then made one more lunge for the bacon. When he missed, he turned on his heel and stormed back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Tseng cracked two more eggs into the pan. He didn’t care that the yolks broke - apparently, their recipient didn’t care, either. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Sir?”

Tseng poked his head into Veld’s office. He made sure that his mentor wasn’t on a phone call, then knocked twice on the door’s frame as he stepped into view.

“What is it, Tseng?” Veld said, looking up from the papers he was combing through. 

Tseng approached the desk briskly and held out a packet of papers. 

“The report you asked for, Sir,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice, “Hand-copied, as requested.”

Veld took the report and paged through it briefly. His brow furrowed.

“Your handwriting is still inconsistent,” he said brusquely, “Seems like you need more practice.”

Tseng’s mood tanked. This was his second week in a row hand-copying the same report. It had started as a punishment for getting caught using a template letter of apology, but now Tseng was wondering if it was ever going to end. He was ready to start some real training. He wanted to get out in the field. 

None of these things were happening at present. And, of course, they wouldn’t happen until his hiring date was slated. 

Veld slid the report off to the side of his desk, picking his own work back up.

“Go find the most recent full report file, Tseng.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tseng kept the filing cabinets in Veld’s room organized - supposedly in training to take over this office in the future someday. He knew exactly where he needed to look. The most recent reports were being filed in a folder that was only half-full, so Tseng selected the group behind that one and returned to his spot in front of Veld’s desk.  _ When I take over this office someday, _ he thought to himself,  _ I’m going to put some chairs in here. _

Veld glanced up, observed that Tseng had done as asked, and turned his nose back down to his papers. 

“I want all of those hand-copied by the end of the week,” Veld said, cut and dry. 

Tseng had made the mistake of asking ‘why’ one too many times in the past few months. He hid his stinging disappointment and kept his face as straight as he could, giving a short nod as he turned.

“Yes, Sir.”

At least these reports were different. The gorey details in the last one had been getting unnervingly stale.


	5. Chapter 5

Tseng dried his hands on the dish towel. He’d spent the time it took to do the dishes thinking through various strategies to get Rufus to do what needed to be done.

So far, he had little to go off of. Especially for the next part of the day. 

The apartment suite had been prepared specifically so that Rufus wouldn’t have any reason to leave. If he was to be let out, then Tseng was required to accompany him, and they both wanted to avoid that as much as possible. As such, an in-home office had been arranged for Rufus to work in. Tseng already knew better than to try to coax him in there today, so instead, he grabbed the laptop from the desk and walked it to the bedroom.

“It’s nine,” Tseng said as he opened the door and stepped into the room, “Are you ready to get to work?”

Rufus was curled back up in the blankets on his bed, knees brought to his chest as he sat. He cast a tired glare in Tseng’s direction when the Turk walked in.

“I’m not working for them as long as they have me trapped here,” he said. Tseng felt a vein pulse in his forehead.

“I’m being kind enough to allow you to work from your bed today,” he said, “Instead of from your office.”

“I’m not doing  _ any _ of their work from  _ anywhere _ in this prison,” Rufus emphasized, “I’m sure it will all just be pointless anyway. Proofreading reports, filling in budgets… Nothing that matters,” The Vice President rested his chin in his palm.

“That sort of work isn’t pointless at all,” Tseng replied, “Someone has to do it. It makes a difference in the end.”

“Hmph,” Rufus sneered, “They promote me and then give me busy work. As if I’m incapable of accomplishing things of consequence.”

_ This isn’t busy work, _ Tseng thought to himself,  _ you don’t know what ‘busy work’ means _ . Instead of trying to refute Rufus’s whining further, he silenced himself and let the blond carry on, bitching and moaning. After too many minutes, Tseng approached the bed and laid the laptop down on the mattress.

“Perhaps you should look at what the work entails before you pass judgement,” he suggested, “I’ve been called back to Midgar to take care of my own tasks for the day. The entertainment systems are locked down, so you may as well try to get at least a few things accomplished in my absence.”

The look on Rufus’s face informed the Turk that he could expect jack shit accomplished by his return, but at least Tseng could avoid most of the consequences for that. Rufus would be answering directly to his father in that regard.


	6. Chapter 6

Veld had been allowing Tseng to “sit in” on phone meetings more and more frequently as of late, which almost certainly meant that Tseng was getting closer to that official Turk title. 

Of course, sitting in on a phone meeting didn’t mean that Tseng got to sit. There were still no chairs in the office, after all. Rather, Veld often put him to work, giving him a filing cabinet to reorganize, or having him reorder the books on the shelves in some new, arbitrary way. Tseng often found himself emptying and refilling cabinets that Veld hadn’t even touched since they had last been reorganized. 

Today, it was the books. Formerly ordered alphabetically, Veld had now asked for them to be arranged chronologically by publishing date. This involved flipping open the front cover of each book and searching for the original publication year. The order drove Tseng up the wall - not because opening the books was annoyingly repetitive, but because it caused the series and groups to intermingle. Encyclopedia sets were interrupted, stuffed unceremoniously between the thick company annual reports. Nothing was next to the right books - it was a jumbled mess. What had previously been a sensical order was now ruined. It was painful to look at, and even more painstaking to cause. 

Tseng’s only solace was the distraction of the phone’s speaker. He was careful to flip the pages quietly so he could hear everything being discussed, not wanting to miss a single opportunity to learn.

“What sorts of status reports do we have from our teams in Wutai? Deusericus? Veld?”

Veld turned his chin toward Tseng, but the trainee was already in motion. He crossed the floor without a second’s hesitation and opened one of the many file cabinets, extracting the most recent set of reports and delivering them to Veld’s desk in silence. He received a nod from his mentor in return - a wordless thanks. 

Tseng returned to the bookshelf, but his attention stayed locked on the meeting, analyzing Veld’s words as he relayed details to the executives about the Turks’ most recent Wutai war missions. Tseng had already read all of these reports, but the details still energized him.

Very soon, he’d be writing field reports of his own. 

Until then, it was going to be countless days of busy work. Tseng found himself wondering yet again why Veld had him pursuing such pointless tasks instead of actual training. He’d lost count long ago of how many times he’d asked himself this question, but he still didn’t have an answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Tseng pressed the button that opened the office door with his elbow. Both hands were occupied by a box, heavy with the possessions it carried. Most of them were Tseng’s preferred office supplies - things he was in the process of moving from his old desk to his new one.

This… was not how things were supposed to go. Tseng was supposed to be ceremoniously gifted this title upon Veld’s retirement. In the worst case, it should’ve been passed down to him after Veld died an honorable death in the field. 

But stepping into this disgraced office alone? This wasn’t something Tseng ever could have imagined. He’d trained to lead a bustling team of close to fifteen Turks, not two… Though even the mere fact that Reno and Rude were still here was incredible. 

It wasn’t all lost yet.

Tseng laid the box on the desk, sighing as the weight left his shoulders. He looked around. The office had been left frozen in time, as if its proprietor was simply on lunch break and intended to return in an hour or so. Papers were scattered on the desk - a report Veld had been reading, a document he’d been proofing. Almost all of it was work in progress - work that Tseng would now be taking over. Only a few other items remained, most of them personal effects. A newspaper sat in the corner, dated for two months ago.

How much had happened, in such little time. 

Tseng removed his own supplies from the box, laying them on top of the work stack, then began refilling the box with Veld’s items. Maybe Veld would find a way to get in contact with him and Tseng could arrange a way to deliver his possessions. But honestly, at this point, who knew? As far as everyone else was concerned, Veld was as good as dead. 

The rest of the office was as much a mess as the desk. After Tseng had been made an official Turk, he no longer had to organize this office so fervently. Every once in a while, Veld brought him in and made him reorder files as a disciplinary action, but overall, the pointless tasks had stopped. Tseng had been immensely grateful for it, but now felt a sense of irony wash over him. In the state the office was in, it was hardly fit for work. How had Veld even functioned here?

Tseng was going to have to reorganize it all again. 

Well, he had an afternoon with which to get started. At four, he needed to head upstairs and fly back to Junon. He took a deep breath as he looked around for a place to start, and his eyes passed over the carpet in front of the desk. He made a mental note to find some chairs later - something to fill that gap that would make it easier to hold team meetings in here.

Ultimately, Tseng landed on the shelf of books behind the desk. All the volumes were arranged in chronological order by publishing date - the worst possible structure.

He would start there. From that moment on, he was in charge, and those books would only ever be arranged alphabetically for the foreseeable future.


	8. Chapter 8

The bullet went straight through the target dummy’s heart. With that, all six shots were sunk in just the right place. A perfect round. 

Tseng lowered the gun and exhaled, stepping away from the shooting range. He didn’t want to waste anymore bullets today - he’d achieved his goal, and that was enough. He’d already been practicing for close to an hour, anyway.

“Nice job!” a cheerful voice spoke up behind him. Tseng turned and returned the grin that Cissnei was giving him.

“Thank you,” he said professionally, “I’ll admit, I’m somewhat proud of that last round.”

“As you should be,” Cissnei said, “You hit the target perfectly every time!”

Tseng nodded. Cissnei was another Turk-in-training, four years younger than him. Due to the age gap, they weren’t perfectly matched, but Cissnei was ahead of where Tseng was at her age. He thought of her as a little sister, and they got along tremendously well. 

“Do you still have any training time left right now?” she asked. Tseng checked his watch - his training time block ran from five until seven, and it was only six.

“I do. Did you want to spar?” he asked. Cissnei laughed.

“You read my mind,” she replied, “Let’s go!”

Sparring was one of the best parts of Tseng’s day - whether he was going it alone with a training dummy or with a partner like Cissnei, it meant a chance to let go of frustrations. This was the time when Tseng could prove that he was cut out to be a Turk. He’d gone rounds with some of the full-fledged Turks in the past, even Veld, and had laid them all flat. And though Cissnei couldn’t take him down yet, she got better every single time. Soon, Tseng was sure that she would overtake him.

Today, she got damn close. A swift sweeping kick caught Tseng at a bad time, and his off-balance footing slipped from beneath him. He was quick enough to turn the fall into a backwards somersault, tumbling out of range and affording himself the time to get upright again.

“Almost had you,” Cissnei huffed with a smile.

“ _ Almost _ ,” Tseng smirked back, his own breath just as heavy. He ran toward his opponent, jabbing a fast palm at her shoulder, but she sidestepped. He countered her attempt to push him onward and knock him prone, bringing his knee into her side instead. She took it hard and fell to the ground herself, where Tseng leaned over her and drew an imaginary gun from an imaginary shoulder holster. Two fingers pointed down at the brunette, and he grinned in victory.

Cissnei sighed and smiled, throwing her hands up.

“Alright, you got me.”

“You’re getting much better, though,” Tseng complimented, “If I slip even once, you could have it,” He opened his hand and reached down, helping her up.

“I’ll get you next time,” she said as she stood, “One of these days, I’ll finally defeat the future Director of Administrative Research!”

Tseng smiled. Cissnei’s energy never failed to make him happy at the end of the day - no matter how bad the day had been.


	9. Chapter 9

“Fuck off.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Tseng said, narrowing his eyes, “Exercise is mandatory.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Rufus snapped. When Tseng had arrived earlier, he found that Rufus had moved from the bed to the couch, but he still wasn’t dressed, nor had any work been done. Now, Tseng closed the laptop and carried it out of the bedroom, intending to return it to the office soon. As he stepped out, he locked the bedroom door, ensuring that Rufus couldn’t go hide in there again.

“There are plenty of options for you to choose from,” Tseng continued, “Strength training, elliptical… yoga?” 

Rufus crossed his arms and huffed out a silent rejection. Tseng tried to take a deep breath and put on a pleasant tone.

“If there’s any equipment you’d like to request, I would be happy to get it arranged.”

Rufus remained mute.

Tseng sighed. He didn’t want to have to offer this option so soon in the game, but it was beginning to seem like it was his only shot. Time to pull the trump card.

“I’ve also been told that you’re permitted to leave the apartment and take a walk outside for exercise. Provided you are accompanied by myself.”

As expected, that one piqued Rufus’s interest. He turned halfway, facing the window and the freedom that lied beyond the walls of his provisional home. If nothing else, he was seriously thinking about it. 

_ Come on, _ thought Tseng,  _ stand up. You need to get  _ some  _ kind of exercise today. _

Rufus glanced back at Tseng. They held each others’ gazes for a moment. Tseng kept every muscle in his face neutral - not giving one hint of emotion in any direction. Nothing to influence the VP’s decision. 

Rufus eventually moved, letting out a deep sigh. He seemed conflicted, and there was anger and frustration in his expression. Tseng held his breath.

But Rufus crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“I’m not following the schedule,” he said, “You don’t know what I need.”

A growing impatience stabbed through Tseng, begging to rip out of his chest and attack the brat. But, in an exercise that he’d perfected over his years of training, Tseng kept it together.

“Everyone requires exercise of some kind,” he said flatly, “Unless you want to end up looking like Palmer.”

The thought put a sour look on Rufus’s face, but he remained seated and pouty, even as Tseng walked around the wide couch.

“Here,” the Turk said, grabbing the television remote. He turned the screen on and brought up a menu, selecting an exercise channel from the list before placing the remote in his pocket. The instructor on the screen was way too annoyingly cheerful and peppy for the situation, but hell, it was the best that Tseng could do - short of giving Rufus a motivational spanking. 

That was definitely a last resort - he’d been authorized to use force, but only if totally necessary. Otherwise… “Be creative,” as Heidegger had said. 

Tseng ignored Rufus’s whines about the stupidity of the program that had been selected for him, making his way back to the office instead. He closed the door, not bothering to lock it - he was sure that Rufus would rather sit out there than be near him. Tseng laid the laptop on the desk, then pulled his own from his bag, setting it up and opening a fresh document.

Might as well type the report on today’s challenges now and get it over with.


	10. Chapter 10

Tseng turned on the water, sticking one hand into the stream as he waited for it to warm up. There was nothing quite like a hot shower after a sparring session, and thankfully the Shinra building never seemed to run out of it. It was something Tseng always tried to be thankful for, and not take for granted - on the streets of Midgar, before he’d been picked up by Shinra, the closest he ever got to a shower was rain. 

This was a blessing. 

The hot water sloughed sweat and the day’s dirt from his skin, and Tseng could feel the steam fill his lungs with each new breath. Training was always the best part of the day, but this gave it a run for its money. The way the hot water soaked through his hair, weighing it down and making his head feel heavy, was strangely relaxing. Tseng always felt ready for bed after his showers.

Though, he should probably break that habit at some point. Veld had pointed out repeatedly that sleep was a luxury to a Turk. Too often, they’d find themselves working under the cover of nightfall, patrolling the streets of Midgar and weeding through its seedy populace at dark hours. It was a glimpse at Tseng’s future, he said - no more falling asleep right after an evening shower.

Tseng was more than prepared to make the change and break the habit. If only he could move forward… But still, he remained stuck in place.

The trainee sighed as he worked a palmful of shampoo through his wet hair, wondering just how much longer Veld intended to work him in circles. At least a week, no doubt - after Veld’s directive to copy every report, Tseng’s fate was sealed until Friday. He rinsed the shampoo away, and combed in some thick conditioner.

Gods, if he just knew what Veld wanted from him… What was it going to take to prove that he was ready? What was Veld waiting for now? There was nothing that Tseng could show him through hand-copying reports. Surely his handwriting didn’t actually matter that much - this was a test of another kind. 

Tseng hated Veld’s tests. 

Usually, they came paired with punishments. This one was hot off the tail of a template letter of apology - apparently, not appropriate to use, though Tseng still didn’t fully understand why. It was more efficient. But in the past, Tseng had suffered through much worse tests at Veld’s hand. Particularly memorable was the time Veld had suddenly asked him to go cut a switch, and when Tseng had panicked and tried to ask why he was going to be whipped, Veld informed him that it was never meant for him. But then, since he’d obviously needed a reminder to be unquestioningly obedient, he could cut two. 

Another standout moment was Veld’s reaction to finding a gallon of spoiled milk in the fridge. Keeping the fridge clean was Tseng’s job, and between his other duties, it had slipped his mind. Veld had led Tseng back to his shower stall - the very one he was in now - and dumped the milk over his head before commanding him to stay, to think about how to better jog his memory next time. After a few minutes, the horrid stench had caused Tseng to get sick. The only sympathy he received was a blast of cold water and the instruction to clean himself up. Veld had simply shook his head as he walked out.

_ “If you can’t stand a little sour milk,” _ he’d said,  _ “You’ll never be able to handle the smell of rotting flesh.” _

Tseng had never let food go bad again. Two years, and he’d been absolutely meticulous, checking every single morning, making every attempt to not have to go through that again. The reek of the milk had stuck to his shower for days, and he eventually grew used to it. After being put on laundry duty enough times, the smell of blood and corpses became as ingrained as bleach and detergent. None of it bothered him anymore. 

By the time Tseng was clean and dry, his mood was its own kind of sour. He took his time getting ready for bed - hair blow-dried, teeth brushed, dressed in pajamas and tucked between the sheets as he let thoughts run through his mind. This room was so small, so empty… Tseng received no pay for his work yet, but he would when he was hired. The first thing he hoped to do was save up for an apartment. A real apartment, somewhere in Midgar - not in the Shinra building. He seldom even got the chance to leave the premises.

Someday - when he was finally a real Turk - he would be able to do whatever he wanted.


	11. Chapter 11

Tseng lowered his chin to the floor as he stood in Rufus’s suite bathroom. This wasn’t likely to be the hardest fight, but it certainly wasn’t going to be pretty. It was mandatory - purely a sadistic way to torture both of them, Tseng was convinced. Regardless of his personal feelings, he at least had to make an honest attempt.

Tseng pushed down the bathtub’s plug and turned on the faucet, letting hot water run in to fill the basin. He made sure that it was plenty warm - it was probably going to sit for quite a while before he could convince Rufus to get in. But, then, if the brat spent too long whining, then cooled water would serve him right.

“Sir?” Tseng poked his head around the doorframe into the living room, where the Vice President was still curled up on the couch. 

“What now?” Rufus grumbled. Tseng took a deep breath. His patience was truly being tested today - at this rate, it was going to run out. Gods, how to word this in the least awkward way possible?

“It’s nine, Sir,” was all he said.

“So?”

“So, if you’d read the schedule - as I’ve asked you to do  _ several _ times - you would know that your bath is being drawn.”

Rufus shot an irritated look at Tseng. The expression was laced with a veil of confusion, as though he didn’t hear him right.

“First of all - like I’ve told YOU several times - I’m not following the stupid schedule,” Rufus repeated, “And second off, I’ll take a shower tomorrow morning. I don’t need your assistance with that.”

Tseng raised his brows - so Rufus hadn’t noticed yet, then, that there was no shower in his suite. There was only a bathtub - which, again, seemed to be a bit of a sadistic design choice. Why not let the poor man have a damn shower?

“I will put in a request for shower hardware, Sir,” Tseng said, “But I’m afraid I must report that your suite is not currently equipped for that.”

Rufus’s brows raised up now, a surprised look coming over him - though it was quickly replaced with anger. 

“Furthermore,” Tseng said, “The schedule specifically called for an evening bath. I’m not sure why, but it was insisted upon when I put it together.”

“You wrote the schedule?” Rufus clarified.

“I was given a list of required daily tasks to include,” Tseng said cautiously, “But, for the most part, I put it in order, yes.”

Rufus hesitated, staying quiet in thought for a moment.

“Can… it be edited?” he asked quietly. That, Tseng knew, was progress - Rufus was moving past denial now, and into bargaining. 

“Edits need to be made via the President,” Tseng explained, delivering news he knew Rufus would not take well, “You’ll need to ask him yourself if you want adjustments made.”

Rufus’s anger flared back up. Yep, here came the temper tantrum…

“I will not be speaking to my father anymore,” Rufus declared, “Can’t you rearrange it?”

“I’m afraid not. I was required to provide a copy to the President as well, so edits must be made through him.”

Rufus snarled, and in a flash of fury, pounded a fist against a couch cushion. After he’d spent a few moments seething, he curled back up and crossed his arms, totally set on not moving. 

“Sir,” Tseng prodded, “The tub is nearly full.”

“Then you’d better go shut it off,” Rufus hissed maliciously, “Maybe you’ll trip and drown while you’re at it.”

Tseng closed his eyes and inhaled. This was absolutely not going to plan. What moments ago had looked like a step forward had resulted in two steps back.

It was time to start resorting to harsher measures.

Tseng walked back into the bathroom and turned off the water. He grabbed a plastic cup from the sink counter and dipped it into the water, carrying it with him back to the couch. Before Rufus could shoot him another dirty look, Tseng overturned the cup, letting the bathwater splash down all over the blond.

“Motherfucker!” Rufus shouted, “You fucking bastard! Get over here, I’ll kick your ass!”

The Vice President swung angry fists at Tseng, but the Turk dodged them effortlessly. Rufus was quick, but he was still no match for a trained professional. Tseng turned to walk away instead. 

“Towels are in the bathroom,” he said as he left.


	12. Chapter 12

It was Thursday, just before the day’s end, when Tseng finished his project. Every report in the pile had been meticulously hand-copied, and Tseng had taken great care to keep his handwriting consistent this time. It was painstaking, and his hand hurt like hell, but it would be worth it when he saw that quiet pride on Veld’s face. Maybe this early finish was what Veld was looking for - it showed a proactive attitude and a strong drive. Those had to be reasons to finally welcome Tseng to the Turks officially.

“Sir,” he greeted, giving a short bow as he presented his supervisor with the papers, “All the reports, Sir - hand-copied.”

Yes, there it was - a look of pleasant surprise in Veld’s eyes. He thumbed through the stack and nodded, obviously pleased with Tseng’s progress.

“Good work,” he said, “These are much better than the last ones,” Veld handed the stack back to Tseng. 

“Now do them again.”

Tseng froze in place, trying to rationalize his emotions. No, that… that can’t be right. All that work…

“Do you have any questions?” Veld pressed, looking up at Tseng in his stunned silence. 

Tseng hesitated for a few seconds. He did have a question -  _ Why? _

“No, Sir,” he finally said, trying his best not to sound crestfallen.

“Don’t lie to me, Tseng,” Veld narrowed his eyes, “What’s your question?”

“It’s nothing, Sir. I understand the expectations.” Tseng said, attempting to dismiss his prying boss.

“No - you have something to say. Say it.  _ Now _ .”

The silence that chased Veld’s rising voice cut like a knife. Tseng swallowed, and finally found the nerve to ask.

“Have you… given any further consideration to my… my reassignment, Sir?”

“Really?” Veld snapped, “That’s your question?” He shook his head angrily and stood up, stepping over to the office’s bathroom door, “Get in here.”

Tseng gulped, knowing perfectly well what he was in for now. Nevertheless, he quickly followed his instruction, stepping over to his supervisor and standing at full attention. In the mirror, his face was mostly stoic, with only a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Pants to your ankles,” Veld told him sternly, reaching into the cabinet beneath the sink as Tseng obeyed, “You’re apparently overdue for another lesson in obedience.”

Tseng swallowed again, watching as his boss stood back up and began to run the water in the sink. In his hands, a bar of soap, taken from a box with Tseng’s name scrawled on it, was dipped beneath the stream and rapidly lathered up.

“Why are you getting your mouth washed out, Tseng? Let’s start there,” Veld said.

“Because I lied to you, Sir.”

“That’s right,” Veld replied, holding the bar to Tseng’s lips, “Now open.”

The soap bar was distasteful and bitter, but the taste wasn’t unfamiliar to Tseng at this point. His mouthsoapings had grown less and less frequent over the years, but receiving one now felt juvenile and humiliating. 

“When I ask you for an answer, you will give me a clear answer straight away,” Veld lectured, “And maybe next time you’ll think better of asking stupid questions.”

Veld pressed the soap bar in deeply, and Tseng took the cue to bite. Veld left the bar there, leaving Tseng to drool the soap into the sink.

“Bend forward,” Veld instructed. Tseng obeyed, “To answer your question, Tseng, you will be made a Turk when you show me that you are ready for the role. But the fact that you still have to  _ question-” _

_ Whap. _ Veld brought a hand down hard on Tseng’s bared ass.

“-my instructions tells me that you don’t trust your leader yet. And if you don’t trust me-”  _ Whap,  _ “-then I can’t trust you,”  _ Whap,  _ “Do you know why I’ve had you copying reports, Tseng?”

“No, Sir,” Tseng did his best to enunciate around the soap bar.

_ Whap. _

“It’s because you still feel the need to question me. This a drill in obedience - you will copy as many reports as I say-”  _ Whap, _ “-when I say-”  _ Whap,  _ “-and however I direct you to do it. And you will be patient and compliant while you work. As a Turk, you have only one job - Do-”  _ Whap,  _ “-As-”  _ Whap, _ “-You’re-” _ Whap, _ “-ASKED.”

_ Whap, whap, whap. _

Veld let into Tseng, causing the trainee to jerk and writhe in pain as he was spanked. Veld had a tendency to spank with his prosthetic and, being made of metal, it stung like a bitch. Tears bit the corners of Tseng’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall - that, more than anything, would be seen as a failure to Veld. 

_ Whap, whap, WHAP. _

“You care too much, Tseng. You still care too much,” Veld said, shaking his head and standing up. He grumbled lowly, as if to himself, “You shouldn’t even want this job, anyway…”

Tseng remained still, feeling the lingering sting on his ass start to fade while the acrid taste of the soap still bubbled in his mouth. After another moment or two, Veld pulled the bar out.

“Go stand in the corner,” he mumbled, “As you are.”

The usual corner where Tseng did his reflecting was out in Veld’s office, and making his way there with his pants around his ankles was not exactly an easy task. Still, Tseng got where he needed to be and stood with his hands at his sides, nose against the wall crease and reddened ass on display. The soap still foamed in his mouth as he stood in silence, counting the seconds as the minutes ticked by. 

It was exactly ten minutes and twenty-three seconds before Veld spoke again.

“Tseng, pull up your pants and get over here.”

Tseng made quick work obeying, shuffling his way to his boss’s desk as he pulled his pants back into place. He stood stoically, waiting for the last of his lecture.

Without warning, Veld grabbed the inkwell from his desk and jerked it, splashing black ink all over Tseng’s white shirt. The Turk-in-training flinched and attempted to knock away the flying inkwell, only to find that Veld hadn’t actually tossed it. 

“For tomorrow, you will have a letter on my desk - two pages, about what it means to be a Turk. And you will wear that same shirt - get some practice in for scrubbing out blood. If there are any visible stains left on it by tomorrow morning, you’ll cut me a switch. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tseng replied around the soap on his tongue. 

“Dismissed,” Veld said, waving his hand, “Better get started.”

Tseng hightailed it back to his room, praying that no one would see him in such a ruined state. His skin was as stained as the shirt, and he was desperate to rinse the burning soap from his mouth. And a letter, on top of it all… He’d likely have to skip dinner tonight to get it all done.

By the next morning, his knuckles were cracked and sore from the bleach and the scrubbing. 

But his shirt was clean.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a bowl of spilled milk that did it. 

On day four of Rufus’s house arrest, Tseng threw together a bowl of cereal and set it out for Rufus’s breakfast. As with the previous days, the Vice President slowly crept out of his bedroom, intent on trying to swipe the food before Tseng could take it away from him. Yesterday, he’d successfully made off with a piece of toast before his morning obligations had been completed - switching to cereal with milk was Tseng’s method of preventing the same result. He was stubbornly set on this, damn it - Rufus was not going to just walk all over him. The rest of the morning routine came first.

Rufus suddenly darted across the room, reaching to grab the cereal off the table, but Tseng, of course, saw him coming. The Turk lifted the bowl elegantly and swept it out of reach, not spilling a single drop of the milk.

What he hadn’t anticipated was Rufus’s next move. Instead of grabbing for the bowl of cereal, Rufus instead took hold of Tseng’s suit sleeve and yanked as hard as he could.

_ Splash, BANG. _

The bowl of cereal splattered down Tseng’s side, soaking him in milk as the bowl crashed to the floor and cracked into pieces. 

That was the last straw.

“Gods, you-!” Tseng shouted, feeling the rage that had been bubbling inside him for days finally explode. He shot out a hand and found a fast grip on Rufus’s hair, whipping him sideways and forcing him to bend across the table. Rufus shouted and struggled, kicked and swung his fists, but none of it phased Tseng in the slightest. With his free hand, he slipped fingers into Rufus’s waistband and yanked, pulling his pajama pants and underwear to his knees and baring his ass.

“This is long overdue,” Tseng hissed, “I will  _ not _ tolerate your insolence anymore. I’m not losing my life over a petty disagreement, so you will  _ do as I ask, _ whether you like it or not!”

With that, Tseng raised his hand up and lined up a strike. Rufus continued to struggle against him, his angle against the table putting him at a significant disadvantage, but as Tseng raised a hand to hit him, he suddenly froze.

The duo both felt a wave of clarity wash over them in the silence. Tseng, in particular, felt a melancholic pang in his chest. Something about standing here like this drummed up memories - what it felt like to be bent over a desk and spanked. Too many times, Tseng had obediently presented himself to his mentor and taken his punishment and felt only resentment afterwards. So many years, Veld had resorted to this sort of discipline to keep his team in line… but at what cost to them all?

It occurred to Tseng quite suddenly that this was not going to work. 

Slowly, Tseng released his grip and brought his hand back to his side. He let Rufus stand up and pull up his pants.

Rufus turned and looked at Tseng, giving him an angry look… but something about it had the appearance of a scared animal. That’s really what he was, in the end - trapped in a cage with nowhere to go. Rufus was not a Turk - trying to hold him down harder was just going to make him rebel more.

For the moment, Tseng was at a loss. He had no idea how to discipline someone in Rufus’s position.

Perhaps it was time to simply let go.

Tseng turned away and stepped toward the bathroom.

“Make your own breakfast,” he said quietly as he closed the door. 


	14. Chapter 14

For the next several days, Tseng stayed as far away from Rufus as he could. Rufus, in turn, did the same - he started by slamming doors and punching things, going so far as to smash a plate against a wall one afternoon. But gradually, as the week went on, he started to settle.

This was thanks, in part, to Tseng’s change in tactics. He said nothing more to Rufus about the schedule - just left the printouts sitting where they’d been before. He didn’t try to keep Rufus from the food, or the television… He just let him run wild. Tseng played housekeeper and handyman, doing Rufus’s dishes when they began to smell, and picking up the broken shards of plate before they could be stepped on. 

He had no better answers. He wondered how long this would go on before he was called into another meeting with the President and expelled. 

Rufus didn’t know how to cook much of anything - the extent of his culinary skills ended at sandwiches and cereal, which is what he ate for nearly every meal. He refused to shave or bathe or get dressed for a few more days, but eventually, his situation began to eat at him.

It was a Tuesday morning when Tseng walked into the apartment. He was on his way toward Rufus’s bedroom to pull open the curtains, but was cut short by the sound of an alarm clock going off. It took him by surprise - Rufus hadn’t set an alarm yet. Tseng stood just outside the door, listening carefully as Rufus shut off the alarm and gradually dragged himself out of bed. 

Rufus said nothing as he entered the living room, hardly even sparing Tseng a glance before making his way to the bathroom. Tseng was surprised to hear the sounds of water running, and even more surprised when Rufus emerged a while later - hair damp but clean, face shaved, and teeth brushed. He still wore his pajamas, but he still dragged himself to the kitchen and pulled out a bowl and the carton of milk, preparing his usual bowl of cereal. He spent a minute looking longingly at the coffee maker, but he made no motion to get it started. 

_ Oh, _ Tseng realized,  _ he doesn’t know how to use it, does he? _

As Rufus picked and prodded at his cereal, not keen on eating it for the tenth time this week, Tseng entered the kitchen and reached into the cabinet, pulling out the coffee grinder and beans. He set to work getting the coffee brewing, letting the percolator work away as he turned to the sinkful of dishes.

Five more minutes in, and Tseng felt Rufus shift up next to him. The Vice President added his empty cereal bowl to the sink. Tseng fully expected him to leave and return to bed, or to grab a mug for coffee, but instead Rufus quietly spoke.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Tseng hesitated. Rufus’s voice was so soft, his tone so genuine - where was this coming from? Regardless, Tseng was grateful for the offer.

“Here,” He handed Rufus a dish towel, “You can dry them.”

Rufus nodded almost meekly and began picking up the dishes and silverware, one piece at a time as he dried.

Tseng sighed deeply. It wasn’t perfect yet, no, but it was progress. What puzzled him most was what had inspired Rufus to make a change. Perhaps his father had a word with him? But, no… that would just piss him off more, right? Shinra leadership had had little to say about Tseng’s laissez-faire approach over the last week… Maybe Rufus had been right. Maybe they weren’t watching the camera footage after all. 

Perhaps, in the end, the schedule didn’t really matter all that much. And though that was a far cry from the way that Tseng had been taught and trained… Well, maybe those training methods needed some rethinking.

Tseng turned suddenly as Rufus made a noise. Then another - a laugh. Small, but just enough to notice. Tseng raised a brow at him suspiciously.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I was thinking about last week,” Rufus said with a smirk. He turned to look Tseng in the eye, “Were you really going to spank me?” 

The question caught Tseng off-guard, and he turned back to the sink in embarrassment. He hated the feeling of heat rushing to his face that followed, and so he cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to rein in his composure.

“I was,” he responded, short and sweet.

“But you didn’t. Were you just faking? Trying to scare me?”

“Not at all,” Tseng said, trying to concisely clear Rufus’s allegations, “It was my full intention to discipline you for your action.”

“Then why didn’t you go through with it?” Rufus pressed.

Tseng sighed, trying to word an answer.

“I suppose I suffered a change of heart,” he admitted lowly, “It occurred to me that it wouldn’t do you any good anyway.”

“Why not?” Rufus grinned, clearly enjoying toying with Tseng in this manner. 

“Because you’re too much of a brat for it to make any difference,” Tseng asserted, turning to face Rufus again and putting on an accusatory tone. The claim just made Rufus laugh harder, and he slowly turned away as his laughter died back down.

“I guess I acted a bit childish,” he said, his face growing more serious in reflection, “But what else were you expecting? I was being treated like a child - how was I supposed to act like anything else?” By then, his tone was back to frustrated - he was trying to justify his actions.

“It’s called ‘being the bigger man,’” Tseng stated, unafraid to give Rufus his criticisms, “If you act as they treat you, then you’re just proving them right. You let them strip you of your dignity.”

“Well, what was the alternative?” Rufus snapped, growing impatient, “Just lie down like a dog and take it?”

Tseng locked his eyes onto Rufus’s. 

“You want to take over this company one day?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Rufus rolled his eyes.

“Then why make enemies with the people you’ll someday lead? In order to get what you want, you sometimes have to be obedient for a while, yes. Prove to them that you deserve their respect, and they’ll be more apt to hand you your power on a silver platter in the end,” Tseng handed another clean dish to Rufus, “And _then_ you can do as you like.”

Rufus took the dish slowly, processing Tseng’s words as he wiped away the water.

“That’s… dehumanizing,” he finally stated.

Tseng let that thought roll around in his head. His memory brought forth the feelings of Veld’s harsh training methods.

“It is,” he said softly, admitting the truth to himself, “But… your options are limited.”

“They are,” Rufus said, relenting his argument. The two men looked at each other - for the first time, recognizing their common ground. 

Tseng reached for the drain plug in the sink, shaking dishwater off his hand before taking the towel that Rufus offered him.

“Would you… join me for coffee today?” Rufus asked, indicating the steaming pot.

Tseng considered for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this fic is something else. I was struck by the idea one night and I shared it with butteredbandits and we were both like omfg this fic needs to be written. It was a process to write, but it was very enjoyable. Also very angsty. I had a lot of big feelings while I wrote this - It's my first really truly angsty fic. 
> 
> I also wrote this before I finished watching Before Crisis, so I'm pretty sure a lot of the setting and timeline is sort of retconned. I didn't really care all that much - this was just the way I'd pictured things going down, and I like the fic otherwise, so here it is, as it is. 
> 
> Thanks to butteredbandits for being, as they put it, the midwife to this fic. They gushed about it with me and helped me refine the ideas, on top of beta reading. Thanks also to lori_yuy for beta reading too, and for plenty of wonderful inspiration!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you did, a comment or kudo is always appreciated <3


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